As nothing is so repellant of base minds as poverty, soon as Ralph found that Ben's pistoles were all gone, and his finances reduced to the beggarly ebb of living _from hand to mouth_, he "_cleared out_," and betook himself into the country to teach _school_, whence he was continually writing fine poetical epistles to Ben, not forgetting in every postscript, to put him in mind of his dear Dulcinea, the fair milliner, and to commend her to his kindness. As to Ben, he still persevered, after Ralph's departure, in his good old habits of industry and economy--never indulging in tobacco or gin--never sauntering to taverns or play houses, nor at any time laying out his money but on books, which he always visited, as frugal lovers do their sweethearts, at night. But still it would not all do. He could lay up nothing. The daily postage of Ralph's long poetical epistles, with the unceasing application of the poor milliner, kept his purse continually in a galloping consumption. At length he obtained a release from this unpleasant situation, though in a way that he himself never could think of afterwards without a blush. After very frequent loans of money to her, she came, it seems, one night to his lodgings on the old errand--_to borrow half a guinea_! when Ben, who had been getting too fond of her, took this opportunity to offer freedoms which she highly resented. This Ben tells himself, with a candour that will for ever do him credit among those who know that the confession of folly is the first step on the way to wisdom. "Having, at that time," says he, "no ties of religion upon me, and taking advantage of her necessitous situation, I attempted liberties (_another great error of my life_,) which she repelled with _becoming indignation_. She informed Ralph; and the affair occasioned a breach between us. When he returned to London, he gave to understand that he considered all the obligations he owed me as annihilated by this proceeding; and that I was not to expect _one farthing of all the monies I had lent him_."